Winchester Fun: The Poem
by Woman of Letters
Summary: Dean has written a poem? Huh? What is this world coming to! Lots of brother interplay and fun...


A/N This actually came out of my story, Betrayed. After I wrote that, Dean Winchester started speaking to me in poetry. I thought, _What in the world?_ Dean is not known to be a poet. Which got me thinking about what would make Dean write a poem at all. Well, read on...

This story takes place before Sam goes to Stanford.

(Thank you to Mali Bear's Buddy for inspiring me.)

**Winchester Fun**

The Poem

by CFEditor

The green-eyed hunter stood in front of the coffeehouse, fiddling with the microphone. He cleared his throat. He looked a little nervously at the audience. It was a packed house tonight... Who would've thought these poetry readings were so popular?

"Well, you see... Uh, normally I don't write poetry. But my little brother, well, we had this bet..."

He glared into the audience, towards where Sam was sitting.

"He's a pain in the butt..."

A titter ran through the crowd. Sam folded his hands across his chest and glared back. A girl in the front row smiled and said, "So come on already... You going to read or not?"

Dean glanced at the girl. She had long brown hair and soft brown eyes. And lots of freckles. Kind of cute.

"Yeah, Dean, come on!" Sam shouted. He smirked at his brother.

"Okay," he said, "but remember, you asked for it."

"I call this 'Batman'". He glanced at the girl in the audience. She was listening intently and she quirked her eyebrows at him.

"_This lame-ass poetry's not for me,_  
><em>but I had to talk.<em>  
><em>None of that chick-flick dipshit,<em>  
><em>Just me.<em>"

There was a strange silence in the room, punctuated by a snort from the girl. _Huh_,he thought,_ maybe I shouldn't have started this by ragging on poetry. _

He continued,

"_Sammy's the one with the silver tongue,_  
><em>Of the two of us,<em>  
><em>He's the only one<em>  
><em>who could escape the family business,<em>  
><em>and make his own way.<em>  
><em>I doubt it, <em>  
><em>But if anyone could,<em>  
><em>It'd be Sam.<em>"

The silence had changed. People were leaning forward in their chairs, rapt with attention.

Sam was looking at Dean in surprise.

"_He could've been anything he wanted,_  
><em>an actor on tv,<em>  
><em>one of those bozos teaching in a college,<em>  
><em>hell, he could have been a politician...<em>  
><em>well, maybe not.<em>  
><em>Me, I could only follow my dad,<em>  
><em>since the day of the fire,<em>  
><em>the day Mom burned.<em>"

Dean looked at the audience. Sam was sitting with his mouth open. The girl looked a little sad and puzzled.

"_When I had to run with Sam,_  
><em>and Dad said 'Take care of your brother,'<em>  
><em>and we sat on the lawn, watching the flames,<em>  
><em>I knew I had to be<em>  
><em>mother and father to Sam,<em>  
><em>partner to Dad,<em>  
><em>Everything but Dean.<em>  
><em>Mom wasn't the only thing<em>  
><em>that went up in flames.<em>"

_Time to end this shit_, thought Dean.

"_But I'm not crying._  
><em>See, I'm happy<em>  
><em>if I can save<em>  
><em>some other little boy or girl,<em>  
><em>save their futures.<em>

_This ain't a sob story,_  
><em>This is who I am.<em>"

He stepped back from the mike. "Well, folks, I'm done now."

The clapping started small, but it built up gradually until it filled the room. Sam just sat, looking stunned. Then he started to clap as well.

Dean did a double-take. Were they clapping for him? _Hmm... Maybe this poetry business isn't so bad after all._

There was a smirk on his face when he walked back to Sam's chair. "What do you think? I was awe-inspiring, huh?"

"Well," admitted Sam, "That poem wasn't half bad."

"Maybe I could be the next... I don't know... what's the name of a famous poet?"

"Get over it, Dean," said Sam, chuckling. "I think you should stick to hunting."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

But then Sam just stood there, looking at Dean as if he'd never seen him before. "Man, I never knew you felt that way."

"Well, you never asked me." He wouldn't meet his eyes. "Come on, Sammy, none of that mushy stuff. Let's just get back to the motel."

As they turned to go, the girl with the brown hair stopped him.

"Wait," she said. "I really liked your poem."

"Oh, thanks," he said. He smiled at her flirtatiously. "I'm Dean. My brother and I are in town on family business. Maybe we could go out for coffee some time?"

She smiled back. "I'd like that. I'm Susie." She took out a scrap of paper from her purse and wrote some numbers on it. "Call me."

"Okay. See you around, Susie," Dean called back.

Sam just stood and stared.

"I can't believe it. Only my brother could turn a losing bet into a date."

Dean rubbed his hands together. "Learn from the master."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Come on, bro, let's get out of here."

_So, dear readers, what do you think? Do you like Susie as a potential character? And I bet you want to see the story about the bet Sam and Dean make that leads to this poem… Let me know what you'd like to see and I'll see what I can do._


End file.
